The Listener
by Kri - Ative
Summary: No one was there to listen to Arthur Kirkland. That is, until he met a deaf kid named Alfred.
1. Chapter 1

I've had this idea stuck in my head for awhile, and creative writing finally pushed me to start it.

warning: language, depressive themes

* * *

I was _that kid_. You know, the one that sat in the back of class. The one who never participated. The one student who the teacher would repeatedly have to ask them for their name because they couldn't remember. The one kid who would just sit there and stalk the minute hand until it was the end of class. The one who would, until that time, bury their head in a random book.

I loved books. Books were my saving grace. It hid the fact that no one wanted to talk to me. Instead it looked like I was actually absorbed in something, even though I never was.

And that's how it looked. That's how it _always_ looked. It didn't look like I was hiding the fact I had no one to turn to in class to talk to.

Who wanted to talk to the loner kid? Hm?

No one. That's who.

I was lonely. I was so lonely.

And that's how I would feel the rest of my day. I never got a wave in the hallways. Not even a smile of recognition.

I didn't get to gossip at lunch; that was for people who actually _had _friends. Instead, I was one of the few who were condemned to wander aimlessly around the hallways.

Then there was gym. That was a fucking nightmare. I was always picked last. I was only ever on the team that picked me last because the teacher forced me to, even though he knew that I didn't want to play as much as they didn't want me. No one ever passed me the ball when we played soccer, and they always pushed me to the back of the lineup in kick ball. I wasn't a valuable player. The only time I was noticed in gym was when we played dodge ball. I was always out first.

And when I got home, no one was there.

There were no brothers or sisters. There was no grandma or grandpa or aunt or uncle. And there _definitely_ was no dad. That's too crazy to even consider.

My mom was the only other human being who lived there, but she was hardly home. She was always working.

She said she had bills to pay, and her job paid crap. She had to work long hours and as many of them as possible. She said she needed to support us.

I'm pretty sure the job was supposed to be an excuse. I think she picked a job with the worst hours and worst pay possible. There were better things in the job listings all of the time. I think she only worked that job to get away from me since dad beat her to it.

So most days, it was just me, myself, and I until she got home late at night.

The only other living thing at the house was Lucy, and she was a dog.

I loved that dog though. I think she was the only thing that loved me. She had a sweet heart and would always wait for me at the door until I got home from school. When I would walk in her tail would wag so fast that I was afraid it would fall off because she was so damn happy. After that, she would follow me all around and nap beside me while I got my homework done. It was nice. It made me feel like something out in the world loved me.

But a dog's love can only go so far.

They can't communicate. They can't ask you how your day was or what you want to do for dinner. They can't hug you and kiss you when you're upset. They can't share stories that'll make you laugh until you're crying.

Those are things only a human can do.

I was alone.

There was no one there to speak to; no one to listen to me. And there was no one to listen to, to hear what goes on in their world. Everyday was a "Groundhog Day" effect; the repetitious cycle of loneliness, solitude, and silence.

Every night I would cry myself to sleep. It was a gift if I didn't. I would fall asleep with snot and tears smeared across my face. I would hiccup and heave until I finally passed out from exhaustion.

It sucked. I'd fall asleep too late and in the morning, I would have to wake up early. And then the same would happen the next day, and then the day after that, and then the day after that one and so on.

Being upset takes a lot of energy out of a person, especially if they're upset all of the time.

You start to really wonder if there's really a point to life. No one acknowledges you. You become a ghost that watches life pass before them. Happiness only seems as real as fairy tales that children grow up believing in, which only turn out to be lies. So why even bother? Why bother with going on?

Maybe it's some weird little glimmer of curiosity. A bunch of "what-ifs". What if one day, someone does notice you? What if once you break out of the cage that you're in? What if you get to be something greater? What if somehow you end up rich and married with a family? What if one day you end up winning an Oscar? What if things get better?

What if one day you are loved?

What if?

It's really hard to believing in the "what-ifs". Our surroundings and past like to convince us that everything will stay the same. It's like that saying, "history will repeat itself" and you're fucked. You know that nothing is _ever_ going to change. That you will always somehow manage to hit a lower point in your life, even when you didn't think it was possible.

But it was still there. For some reason I believed in those damn "what-ifs". I didn't know why or how though. I had tried to stop thinking of them a long time ago, but I couldn't completely get rid of it. Maybe it was because I had read so many of the stories with under dogs. Those people that turn out to be heroes. That one day everything does turn around.

I really didn't want to believe in the "what-ifs".

But I did. I hated myself so much for it.

And so every day I continued to live my small existence. I wasn't quite sure what the point of it was, but then one day something changed.

I met a deaf kid named Alfred.


	2. Chapter 2

plot twist: I actually update relatively recently and the story is actually continuing.

disclaimer: language

* * *

I played clarinet and was the leader of three second-chair players. That's probably because playing the clarinet was one of the only things I was okay at doing, and it was also really easy to be a leader. All you had to do was keep quiet, play well, and show the others how to play the goddamn piece when it was obvious that they didn't know how to. It was more of a title than an actual position of authority which I didn't mind, because God knows I had absolutely no qualifications to be any sort of actual "leader".

But it was one day in band class that changed everything.

The band director, Mr. Ludenberg, was notorious for switching things up. He liked to play little games with us that kept us on our toes and left us dancing on them as we tried not to embarrass ourselves by playing a wrong note or rhythm in front of the entire band. It was nerve racking whenever he did it, because you never knew who the victim was going to be that day.

"Kirkland, come up here."

Of course it would be me. The one time someone noticed me it would entitle going before the eighty person band, and it was never good when that happened. When you were told to go to the front of the band there was usually total embarrassment that you couldn't even begin to hide by the time you walked away.

Although I was hesitant, I got up. I placed my worn clarinet on the plastic chair, and made my way through the sea that was the band. Just _getting_ up there began the unsettled feeling of impending embarrassment. You could never get to the front inconspicuously, and it was always awkward. Everyone had to move their stands and chairs out of the way so the person going up could have a path, and while you made your way up they stared at you like some rarity.

Once I got up there I immediately cursed my English skin. It was clear as day that my cheeks were beat red because I knew I was going to be wholly embarrassed. While I knew I should have acknowledged Mr. Ludenberg when I got up there, I just couldn't look him in the eye.

"I want you to warm up the band. Concert B flat scale, up and down in whole notes to start."

Then he walked away.  
It was just me _by myself_ in front of the rest of the entire band. I was hoping that he'd stand in the back of the room and watch me but he _left _the fucking room. I was on my own and I was so sure that I was about to burst out into tears. I don't even think the old hag had the heart to see me make a fool of myself.

So I waited at the front (I was hoping he'd come back) while I saw the true chaos that was the band. There were trumpets playing the highest and loudest notes they possibly could, flutes giggling and squealing as they conversed with one another, and the trombones were on their phones as if they weren't even in class. But the worst was the percussion section. They would just bang and crash and smash anything and _everything_ in sight. The worst was a kid named Alfred though, he just didn't know when to quit. The whole section would have to poke and prod at him to get him to stop playing and to pay attention to what was going on.

I raised my arm weakly to get everyone to notice me.

"Is everyone ready?"

I could have sworn in that moment that those words were a twisted magic spell. Everyone stopped what they were doing and got ready. Someone was actually listening to me, _eighty_ someone's were listening.

I let my arm drop and began a steady and basic 4/4 conducting pattern.

"One, two, one, two, ready, and!"

And everyone played the scale. They played it in whole notes, quarter notes, eighth notes… all of the regular warm up scales! To top it off, I didn't even screw up _once_. I silently congratulated myself for foiling Mr. Lundenberg's attempt to embarrass me. I also managed to one-up him when I conducted a piece since he took longer than expected to return.

The song was almost the best we had ever played it… with the exception of Alfred. He played over every measure I would stop at. He hit the snare drum at the wrong times and was far off from the timing I gave. I was becoming increasingly pissed off at him with every error. I didn't think that he realized how vital a drummer is to the beat of the band, and he was throwing everything off just to seemingly disrespect me.

But before I could say anything to him, Mr. Ludenberg returned to the room. He gave me a nod as if to say, "step down", allowing me to return to my seat. As I did, I smiled for the first time in awhile. I was noticed and hadn't screwed up in front of a massive group of people, so a smile somehow managed to creep its way on to my face.

The rest of band rehearsal went on as normal. I played my part, got ignored in my section, and stayed quiet when Mr. Ludenberg worked on different sections. Soon enough, the class came to an end and everyone was packing up to leave.

But I couldn't go to my next class without giving Alfred a piece of my mind. I shouldn't have let it bother me as much as it did, but it felt he was so _rude _to me while I was conducting.

I marched right up to him like the little marching band nerd I was, scowl and everything on my face. I wanted to get my point across from jump street how I was not having his shit, but it failed when he had his back to me, trying to put his snare sticks away. So I opted to tap his shoulder, to which he immediately whipped around.

His bright blue eyes widened so much that his silver framed glasses looked small. I guess though that when you have a short, pissy English kid in your face it's kind of hard to not be startled.

"Are you inconsiderate, or just dumb?"

The words just escaped, and I really regretted it. I was a person whose temper was as short and was as explosive as a fuse, but with guilt that could stick with me for years.

But much to my surprise all he did was stare at me with a blank look on his face; almost as if he didn't know what I was saying.

"Do you realize how monstrously rude it was of you to keep messing up while I was conducting. Do you disrespect your other peers like this? I know for a fact if Mr. Ludenberg had been the one conducting you wouldn't have even had the nerve to do such a thing. "

But he just stood there, staring at me. He wasn't paying attention to a single word I said and was playing statue. That was my fault though, he clearly didn't know how to respond to any of my yelling.

It was then that his friend, (and the tuba player of the band) Gilbert, walked over. He saw me yelling at Alfred and of course being friends, it set him off.

"Dude, what the fuck is your problem?"

He looked like he was going to punch me in the face. He had his fist curled into a ball so tight that if it weren't for the fact he was albino, you would have seen his fist go white. He was a little under six feet and was a little more on the lanky side, but still a force to be reckoned with.

I got nervous because Gilbert was generally known as one of those people you didn't want to run into in an alleyway. But I was going to stand my ground, so I continued to stand there as he made his way towards me.

"He was being disrespectful to me earlier. He kept playing over everything and –"

I didn't get to finish my explanation. He had no patience for my explanation as he got right up so close to my face that I could feel his gross warm breath hit my face.

"He's deaf, you asshole. He's not going to hear any shit you say, and he has a hard time with getting a feel for the tempo. "

Oh.

_Oh God_. I was the biggest arsehole in the whole entire universe. If I thought I felt guilty before, that was nothing. I was praying that some God or fateful being would strike me now and kill me because I had humiliated myself to the point where I didn't feel I had the right to exist because I was just so awful of a person.

Gilbert signed a message to Alfred, and made him laugh a little. He signed something back, which must have been something to save my arse because Gilbert sent me a glare that could kill as he walked away.

Aiden got out a piece of paper and began to write on it.

_Sorry for earlier, dude! I didn't mean to give you an issue. I'm set on such an auto-pilot that I didn't notice you took a different tempo. _

I gestured to the pencil, hoping he'd give it to me so I could respond. He passed the pencil, smile and all, and it made me feel worse. The room seemed like it was getting hotter and hotter now with every single thing Alfred did.

_My sincerest apologizes, I wasn't aware of the situation. _

He smiled at me and waved his hand like he was saying, "it was no big deal," but that couldn't be further from the truth.

All I could think was how horrible of a person I was. I yelled at this kid for something so small and acted like a complete wanker about it, and then he just brushes it off and acted like it was okay!

No wonder why I didn't have friends and was left alone. No one wanted to talk to me because all I did was berate and insult people, just like how I did to Alfred!

I couldn't even look him in the eye. I let my head hang low and shuffled away as I tried to hide from what I had just done. It was a wasted effort though, because I didn't realize how ferociously loud I was when I yelled at Alfred.

Nobody in the band wanted anything to do with me after I yelled at Alfred. There was an overwhelming aura of hate that felt like it was going to drown and kill me. Everyone loved Alfred, and to see me blow my top off at him made me public enemy number one. I had to get out, fast. I got looks of death as I left the room, but the majority of people turned their noses at me.

I had always wanted to be noticed, but this isn't what I had in mind.

* * *

I wanted this to be a little longer, but oh well.

Arthur thought he was going to get away without being embarrassed but we can't have that, now can we?

Feed back on this would be great if y'all could help out c:


End file.
